The Road to Hell
by st4r-pl314d3s
Summary: Harry had the best of intentions, but two wrong acts don't make a right one.


Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling and various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Title: The Road to Hell

Rating: R

Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, past Harry/Ginny, past Draco/Astoria

Summary: Harry had the best of intentions, but two wrong acts don't make a right one.

Warnings: angst, AU, EWE, minor character death

Word Count: 10.567

Author's Notes: This is my entry for HD_Career_Fair. Thank you so much for the wonderful Winnett and , who have beta-ed this fic, despite me just finishing it near the deadline. You really made this fic so much better and I can't thank you enough for that. Any remaining mistakes, of course, are mine. Also, thank you to Lorrelai for the prompt.

"No," Draco said, "I won't do it." Though his voice was small, there was no hesitation.

"I think you misunderstand me, Malfoy. I am not giving you a choice." There was a smirk on Harry's lips. Somehow, no matter how many times Draco had seen it, it still struck him as wrong. There should never be a smirk on Harry's lips.

"Don't you understand what this will do to my family, Potter? This new law you want will doom us! People will accuse us of crimes out of spite and revenge, and they won't even verify the truth before they gleefully cart all of us to Azkaban!"

Draco tried to hide the tremor in his hands, yet he knew Harry had seen it. He had to make Harry understand. He had to.

How could Harry ask this of him? Didn't Harry know that by doing this, Draco would virtually hand his family over to Azkaban himself?

He had lost so much. How could Harry ask him to sacrifice his family?

"And why exactly should I care? Did the Death Eaters care about destroying innocent people's lives?"

The fear and anger in Draco's heart seemed to cool down into a lead. And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? Harry didn't care, he couldn't care.

There was a familiar throbbing stab of pain. Still, he was used to it, wasn't he?

"I thought you were all for justice," Draco said bitterly.

"This is justice," Harry said, his voice steady, hard.

Draco recognized the look in Harry's eyes, the one that said that he knew his words were the absolute truth and there was nothing that could convince him otherwise. That look used to irritate him at Hogwarts, since it was the look that also said 'Draco Malfoy is nothing but an evil git and we should foil his plans.' He had learned to admire the look later, when it was translated into 'Voldemort is evil and I will defeat him regardless of the risk' and 'now the war is over we can make a better world.' The second one was a bit too naïve for him, but he did admire Harry's bravery to hope and believe. In fact, if he were to be honest, the look was one of the reasons for his crush. Yet at that moment, he just felt empty.

"And how about Scorpius? Or other kids like him? Do they deserve to be punished?"

"They won't. They are not ex-Death Eaters, are they?"

As if Azkaban was the only punishment. As if the world just consisted of ex-Death Eaters and not ex-Death Eaters who lead mutually exclusive existences.

"And separating them from their family? Killing their parents?"

The old Harry, Draco knew, would have taken this into consideration. He had read an article once at the Quibbler (not that he wanted to admit it, but for a desperate job seeker, every newspaper was an opportunity) that losing his parents had made Harry consider family as an important thing.

"I'll say it is better than to be raised by Death Eaters."

Unfortunately, the new Harry was not. Harry used to be the boy hero who saw everything through rose tinted glasses. Only, Draco knew that the rose tinted glasses had long ago been lost and broken. So maybe Harry really did think that ex-Death Eaters were nothing but dirt.

Ex-Death Eaters like him, a voice in his mind reminded him.

"I won't do it."

He hoped his voice was strong and confident, because he couldn't feel any more than that.

"Like I said before Malfoy, you have no choice."

There was a taunt in Harry's voice and a look of conviction on his face.

"Tell me, what will happen to your mother if I stop my endorsement and tell St. Mungos to just abandon her, hmm? And what happens to your dear family if you stop earning galleons?"

Draco didn't deign to answer him, opening the door instead. What was the use of an answer, anyway? He'd already given his opinion. There was no way he would sell out his family.

"I'll give you three days to think about it, but no more."

Unfortunately, they both knew that he only has one answer in the end.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Harry loved the sofa he sat on. It was beige, and comfortable, and modest, and most importantly, they had chosen it together, he and Ginny, when they first moved into Godrics Hollow. He remembered them hopping from shop to shop, looking for new furniture to decorate their equally new home. Harry never knew shopping could be so much fun before that day.

Ginny. She had been so young, so happy. She wore her hair in a ponytail in those days and Harry loved to play with it while she rested her head on his shoulder.

They would stop at Fortescue's afterwards. He never chose the same flavor twice, determined to taste each and every one of them, but Ginny always had a strawberry sundae.

He twirled the glass of firewhisky in his hand.

They took the light from her eyes like they took her from him. And that ungrateful Malfoy, how dare he to refuse, to argue? Death Eaters had to be punished for what they did. They killed and plundered, and then they pretended to repent, but how could one change what was rotten to the core?

He took another big gulp.

Ginny. His Ginny. The Auror who found her told him that she'd bled to death. Sectumsempra. Her killer didn't want her to simply die, but to suffer and then die.

Harry felt the wetness of tears at the corner of his eyes.

Vanquisher of Voldemort, what a joke. He couldn't even keep his wife safe.

"Harry? Can I come through?" A voice from the Floo, accompanied by his friend's bushy head, broke his rumination.

"Of course, Hermione." Harry straightened on the couch and hid away the glass. He was not in the mood for Hermione's lecture.

A few moments later Hermione was standing in his living room. She seemed happy, Harry thought. Yet there were lines of worry around her eyes.

It should not be like this, he thought bitterly. They had saved the Wizarding world, hadn't they? They had earned their happily ever after. Or maybe he should just stop being a fool.

"Where are the kids?" Hermione asked, looking around.

"Albus and James are with Molly, and Lily is sleeping upstairs. She is running a big fever. Last night, well, she had that nightmare again."

"Oh, Harry."

There was sympathy in her voice, mixed with sadness and understanding. Harry hated pity, but it was different with Hermione and Ron. After all, it was their loss as well.

Harry rubbed his eyes; they were grainy and burned when he blinked. Every time Lily had the nightmare, he ended up with his own sleepless night. The Healers at St. Mungos had said that it was normal for kids to have nightmares about traumatic events in their lives. Kids have great imaginations, and sometimes they could imagine scarier scenarios than what had actually happened. Still, it shouldn't last for two years, should it?

Damn that media! He had tried to shelter his kids from the news about circumstances surrounding their mother's death. Only, when you were Harry Potter and even your favorite color was front page material, there was no way around it.

"Why did you come, Hermione? Not that you have to have a reason to do so, you know," he said with a weak smile.

"It is the Werewolf Act." Hermione grinned and Harry suddenly noticed that she had a lot of books and scrolls in her arms.

"They passed it?"

It had taken the ministry an entire year to decide whether the request was worth presenting to be voted on by the Wizengamot. He had thought that maybe he would have to give them more bribes.

The proposal had been prompted by Teddy. Teddy. Just thinking about him brought the pain a new. The ministry had declared him dangerous and taken him away from them not long after the war was over. Harry had tried. Andromeda had tried. Even the Weasleys had tried. Yet nobody could find out where they had taken him, or even if he were still alive.

Worse, he was not even a Werewolf. He had been examined, after all, and declared not infected.

Even after years, the memories of Fenrir and how the Werewolves sided with Voldemort were still fresh in some people's mind, Harry guessed. People wanted the Ministry to put away all Werewolves, dangerous or not. And the Ministry, trying to protect their own interests like usual, caved. To no avail Harry argued against it, citing Lupin as example.

Then there was that new finding. A Mediwizard who had researched about lycanthropy for years had announced that lycanthropy - contrary to the old belief - could come out later in life. It could lay dormant for years, only to be triggered into existence later on. A kid whose parents were infected could be declared normal, only to transform into a Werewolf later on.

It didn't matter that some triggers had to be executed before the dormant infection woke up. It didn't matter that said Mediwizard couldn't even state yet what were the required conditions. People panicked. They were afraid.

The Ministry took Teddy and the fight to protect Werewolves' rights became personal for Harry.

Harry shook his head. He couldn't lose hope. After all, the proposal, when it passed into law, would bring Teddy back to them.

It was a protection for werewolves bitten against their will, which was most of them. It established their rights as citizens, admitted that they were not simply mindless, dark creatures. Harry's proposal demanded the Ministry provide counselors to help families cope with their new situation, a guarantee of employment, and free wolfsbane potion.

"I just got the news. They will present it for voting when the Wizengamot convenes."

When something caught her attention, Hermione could become so animated, hands moving and face glowing.

She deserved better, Harry thought. She deserved more respect than what she got, she deserved more recognition. She should have risen through the ranks of the Ministry, instead of being lumped with dull, tedious work. She scared the higher ups, he knew, with her tenacity and spirit for change and ability. One day...

"It won't guarantee that we will win..." Harry said.

The selection was a joke, really. All the proposals had to be examined first by a special committee, supposedly to save the Wizengamot's time. Only those that were deemed suitable would be presented to said Wizengamot. Yet, what was the use of perusing the proposal first, if there was no guarantee it would be accepted anyway? Moreover, what was the use of pretending to consider it, if most of the time the decision had been made in advance?

"No, but it is a start, isn't it?" asked Hermione.

She was smiling, but something in her eyes told him that she didn't think they would win.

"I don't think you believe it."

And just like that, he saw her deflate in an instant. The worry lines were back on her face and a haunted look entered her eyes. She put her book on the side table and sighing, took a seat beside him.

"I don't think the Wizengamot will pass this one, Harry."

Harry said nothing. Instead, he cocked one eyebrow and waited.

"Rumor has it that the Greengrasses had a kid that had been bitten to death by a werewolf. And the Brookses had been a staunch hater of werewolves. Not to mention the Radleys have a grandson that was turned into a werewolf. He couldn't handle the stress of transformation though, and killed himself three months later. Afterwards, they treated Werewolves as the embodiments of evil. "

"So in sum, all fractions have reasons to reject the proposal."

This time, she was the one who was silent. There was no confirmation needed. They both knew that the Wizengamot was filled with old, bigoted, cowardly, rigid purebloods. Worse, most of them were related to one another, by marriage and blood.

The Greengrasses were not rich, but they were old, and their reputation was fairly untainted by the Voldemort scandal. The Brookses were said to have hailed from Merlin's own time, and if the wedding of their daughter was any indicator, they were awfully rich. Compared to them, the Radleys were new money. The grandfather had made his fortune through trade and the father, the current member of the Wizengamot, had started from the bottom at the Ministry. Still they were no less influential than the others. In fact, they were a kind of de facto leader for the younger generation in the Wizengamot. If all three of them rejected it, there was no way the others would agree with the proposal.

Still, Harry knew, all was not lost. After all, he did have a secret weapon, wasn't he?

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'll take care of it as usual. Just tell me if anything turns up in your research."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The room was relatively bare, with white walls and white floor. Once upon a time, Draco knew, this would have been a massive, comfortable bedroom with flower arrangements everywhere from colleagues trying to ingratiate themselves for his parents' favor. Yet the bed in the room was the normal, standard issue of St. Mungos, and the only flower arrangement was the small bunch of roses on the bedside table that Draco had brought with him. At least, Draco tried to console himself, it was a private room.

Unfortunately, it also brought back the thoughts about what he had been reduced to do to provide it, and worse, what he was cornered to do.

Draco took a deep breath and tried to set his gloomy mood aside. His mother could still read him as well as ever and the last thing he wanted to do was to make her worry. Pasting a smile on his face, he greeted her.

"Hello, Mother."

Narcissa lifted her face from the book she was reading and upon seeing who her visitor was, smiled.

"Draco, darling."

"How are you today?"

The question was merely a formality, they both knew that. Draco had been briefed by the healers about her condition.

"The healer said that I am getting better and can come home soon. I can hardly wait."

Draco felt a stab of ache in his heart. Though it was true, he also knew that her relapse was only as long as she consumed the potions - potions that would cost them galleons each.

Sometimes, he wished that his family hadn't followed that mad man, that his father had taken a different course in life. He wished that his mother had not gone out alone on that blasted day to Diagon Alley. If she had taken somebody with her, maybe that Muggleborn wouldn't have hexed her and instead of depending on potions, she would be the healthy, determined woman he had known. Most of all, he wished that he was not so powerless.

He blinked his tears away. So much for not making his mother worried.

"Just take it easy, okay?" Draco smiled and took Narcissa's frail hand in his own. Then impulsively he added, "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything,"

Yes, he was powerless, but not totally useless. He would take care of his family, even if he lost his dignity and self worth in the process. He would dance to Potter's tune. He would make sure that his mother would get the treatment she deserved; no matter what the cost he would have to pay.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Draco had imagined coming home to Scorpius' smiling face. Instead, he was welcomed by a teary eyed kid.

"What's wrong?" He kneeled down to look Scorpius level in the eyes. Carefully, he extracted his handkerchief and wiped the boy's tears.

Scorpius didn't answer, though. He just continued hiding his face in Draco's robe, heaving and sobbing.

"Scorp, what's wrong?"

Draco's worry grew by the second. Scorpius, he knew, was not a brave kid by any means. It seemed that cowardice was indeed a Malfoy trait. Still, he was also not a kid that would easily cry, even if it was pride that stalled the tears instead of endurance.

"They mocked me," the answer finally came, so soft and quiet that Draco was forced to strain his hearing to catch it.

"They?"

"The kids at school."

Draco sighed inwardly. To be honest, he had been afraid of this. Kids, he knew just all too well, could be cruel, crueller than any adult in their ignorance. After all, hadn't he been a bully once?

Worse, he realized that there were way too many skeletons in the Malfoy closet. There was a lot of fodder for insult and mockery that even an unimaginative child could easily dig up.

"What did they say?"

Again, there was no answer, except a tightening of Scorpius' hold on his clothes.

"It's fine. I will talk with your teacher tomorrow"

Scorpius lifted his head from Draco's chest and shook his head resolutely.

"No."

Draco lifted one of his eyebrows in response to this strange statement. He couldn't remember a time when he refused his own father's offers either to smoothen his way or clean up his mess.

"What they said is true after all. This is a Death Eater family," Scorpius whispered, but Draco felt like he was punched in the stomach.

"Don't say that! This is not a Death Eater family! Yes, your grandfather and I made an awful mistake, but it doesn't mean that the entire family is made of Death Eaters. Besides, we have already paid for our mistake. Those kids have no right to say anything!"

Scorpius nodded, yet Draco knew he didn't believe a word of it. Still, Draco refrained from saying anything more, choosing to hug his son instead. He could feel moisture invading his own eyes.

As a son, he was a failure. As a husband, according to his ex-wife, he was also a failure. So why was he surprised that as a father he was nothing but a failure, too?

Harry's comment came unbidden into his mind. Was it true? Would Scorpius be better off with another family?

He burrowed his face into his son's hair.

No, he knew the law would do nothing to help kids like Scorpius. On the contrary, letting people put ex-Death Eaters away without a fair trial, both for real and imaginary offences would leave his son practically an orphan.

Harry had said that it would keep the Wizarding world safer, that sometimes, things like technicality and lack of proofs had made it possible for criminals to escape justice. And Harry had argued that once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. After all, if you could kill once, who could guarantee you wouldn't do it again?

But Draco knew how it would be. People would soon make up some crime or another that his family allegedly had done. His parents and he would be sent to Azkaban, and the Ministry would put his son into an orphanage.

Still, if he refused, what would become of his family? Without the money Harry gave him - for services rendered, his mind reminded him, without Harry's throwing around his weight at St. Mungo, his family was as good as doom anyway.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"So, have you thought about it?" There was a mocking tone in Harry's voice. After all, they both knew that viewing the situation as some form of choice was a joke. Harry put the tea in front of the sitting man who was steadfastly looking at the table. His hair hung lank, hiding his entire face from Harry. His posture, which used to be straight and proud, was hunched.

If he were to be honest, it gave him a bit of a thrill, seeing the other man like this, miserable and in Harry's power. It had been a year since he found Malfoy and on impulse, decided to offer him the job, but it still felt like a novelty for him.

Harry smiled coldly.

"You have no choice and you know it."

Malfoy lifted his face and looked up. Harry thought that Malfoy's eyes looked like a brewing storm and if he were to concentrate, Harry fancied seeing all the sorrow, anger and hate swirling in their gray orbs.

"How can you expect me to help you destroy my family? I need your help; I admit it, but..."

"Like you said, you need me."

Harry never knew, before his and Malfoy's agreement, he could be drunk on power. Even killing Voldemort hadn't made him feel like this. He felt hot and excited. He supposed it was like getting drunk on firewhisky, only better and without the hangover.

"If I help you, I request immunity for my family. There must be a way we can develop a mutually beneficial relationship."

Harry detected a hopeful tone in Malfoy's voice. He could sense that the bravado on display was a fake, though. Malfoy hated to show weaknesses. He thought that showing strength would make the opponent think that you couldn't be intimidated. It was too bad for him that they both knew exactly who was in control. Harry's inner self was cheering.

"And what is the benefit for me in your little scheme?"

He smirked, seeing the gray eyes become dull once again.

"Potter, please..."

Walking around the table to the blond's side, Harry bent down and captured Malfoy's pointy chin in his fingers. He waited until Malfoy's gaze turned to him before he spoke.

"You are lucky Hermione came to me with news about the werewolf law. It is my main priority right now. I already have one address; I'll find the others soon. Go there and do as usual and I'll give you more time to think about the other one."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Draco shivered and pushed the bell beside Harry's door. It was raining and he didn't feel like casting an Impervious Charm.

He felt so dirty, tainted, like having grime all over his skin that he couldn't rub out with any potion.

He had Apparated directly to Harry's from that man's place. The man, like most of them, had been old enough to be his grandfather. In many ways, he reminded Draco of Abraxas, with his white hair and kind look - then the look disappeared as soon as they entered the chamber, replaced with lust and greed. He wanted Draco, and not in a grandfatherly way.

They were all the same - powerful, respectable men with a taste for illusions.

He was not stupid. He knew why they wanted him, each of them. Some were so firmly locked away in the closet, that the notion of wanting a man would send them running and screaming. But Draco looked like his mother, didn't he? After all, he inherited her silky locks and big eyes.

Some were in it for the thrill of power it gave them. The Malfoys had been powerful once, the cream of the society. It gave them satisfaction to see the heir catering to their every desire, letting them do whatever they wanted to him.

Yet some wanted him simply because he was convenient. They knew he wouldn't talk and he wouldn't say no. His shivering became worse and Draco knew the shivers were not only because of the rain.

He still could feel the old man's greedy hands pawing at him, his forceful lips at his. He still could hear his mocking voice in his ears.

Draco shook his head, trying to chase the thoughts away.

The door was opened and there was Harry standing at the doorstep.

"I take it that it went well."

The sentence was a statement, really, not a question.

Draco tried to answer, but he couldn't find his voice, so he just nodded instead.

In reply, Harry opened the door wider and let him enter.

It was warm inside, and Draco knew that Harry must have sent his children to the Burrow. Harry would have known that Draco would come that night.

Absently, he wondered whether his own son had gone to bed. He wanted to see Scorpius, but he couldn't bring himself to go home just yet. He couldn't stand the thought of going home to his family like that, smelling of sex and other men.

Besides, there was something about sleeping with Harry afterward. It made him feel cleaner than taking a bath.

Silently, he followed Harry to his bedroom.

Harry would let him take a bath, he knew. Then, they would have sex. Draco wouldn't pretend that it was something else. They would do it fast - no foreplay, no tender whispers. But somehow, the fact that it was Harry's body, Harry's hands, made it somewhat better. Even if it was nothing for Harry but a convenience sex, even if Harry didn't care, he could pretend.

It was, he supposed, like taking a Muggle drug. It made you high and happy for a while and when the effect disappeared it would leave you feeling even worse than before. Yet, Draco was used to disappointment, wasn't he?

Draco wondered how fucked up it was, that even after everything, he was still in love with his jailer.

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Hermione hoped Harry was free. She usually preferred to come to his house to talk - these days, no one knew who was on whose side at the Ministry. Besides, Harry was always busy, juggling more projects than what was healthy for him.

She sighed.

She had hoped, that with time, the pain of losing Ginny would be lessened, that Harry would stop throwing himself to work. Apparently, it was a futile wish.

Well, there was a new improvement on the Wizengamot front. Rumour had it that the Greengrasses had agreed to support the proposal. She wanted to ask Harry whether he had something to do with this and to discuss their next strategy with him.

Suddenly, she realized in her musing that she had reached Harry's office. She lifted up her hand, prepared to knock, when she saw that the door was not closed completely and there was someone inside with Harry.

"So, we agreed, didn't we?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Potter."

"And you will help me persuade the Wizengamot to pass the Werewolf Protection Law?"

"I will."

"Good. I will tell him to come to Grimmauld at midnight tomorrow. You got twenty-four hours, the usual rules."

Hermione brought her hands to her mouth, trying to stifle her gasp.

Him? Twenty-four hours? The usual rules? What was Harry playing at?

The sound of footsteps snapped her back to reality. She darted away, her business with him forgotten.

Still, she couldn't shake the conversation from her mind.

A year ago, when Harry approached her with a plan to change the Ministry, a plan that she swore she would not tell Ron about - not that they didn't trust him, but with most of his family working at the Ministry, it was too risky and too dangerous for him to be involved with plans that were barely legal - she had thought that he would use his influence as the Boy Who Lived. After all, he had a lot of clout these days.

She knew he was using blackmail and gathering favors. Hell, she had been involved in some of them herself.

Yet the conversation she just overheard...him...what was actually happening? Who was him?

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Hermione had been loitering around Number 12 Grimmauld Place for half an hour, Polyjuiced as a punk girl, when she saw a man approaching the house. Casually, to avoid attracting attention, she walked nearer and hid behind the black car on the neighboring house's lawn.

From where she was, she couldn't see his face and he wore a hooded coat to cover his hair. He knocked at the door and waited for a few moments before it opened to show her the head of Department of Magical Games and Sports, Abelard Raith.

"You are late, slut."

Hermione flinched involuntary when she saw Raith's hand stroke out and slap the hooded man. The sound resonated loudly.

"I am sorry," said the other man, his voice low.

She should know that voice. She was sure she had heard it before, but she couldn't place it.

Raith took the other's face in his hands then and forced the hooded man to look up, causing his hood to fall down.

"Hmm, so pretty... I will enjoy the next twenty-four hours so much..."

Hermione almost didn't hear those words spoken. It was a crescent moon that night and there were no street lamps around, but she would recognize that whitish golden hair anywhere.

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Draco had planned to wake up late. It was five o'clock when he stumbled home from Harry's that morning. Moreover, he had just spent the day before as some man's toy for the whole day.

Scratch that. He had planned to sleep until dinnertime.

Unfortunately, it was only that, a plan. His only remaining house-elf had woken him up at ten o'clock in the morning with the news of Granger's sudden, unexpected arrival.

"Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Draco was quite proud that he could maintain his usual polite but detached voice. He felt so tired and sleepy and depressed; the only thing he wanted at the moment was for Granger to go home and leave him in peace.

"Cut it, Malfoy."

The voice was cold. Draco forced himself to concentrate and observe Granger better. She looked as rumpled as he felt. And she was angry; he could see it in her eyes.

Draco wondered what had happened. The last time they saw each other had been two years ago at Ginny Weasley's funeral, and the only thing he did lately was Harry's dirty jobs, which he was under impression she knew nothing about.

"I saw you yesterday."

The words cut through his rumination and shocked him to the core. He had been careful. How much did she know? Was it an unfortunate coincidence? Did she somehow know it since the beginning, smart as she was? Well, at least he could discount the possibility of Harry trapping him, he thought humorlessly. Harry was, after all, the one who had told him that if Draco told anybody, Harry's friends and Draco's family included, about the nature of his job, Harry would personally make his life more of a living hell than it was.

"Oh?" He schooled his feature to indifference instead.

His action, he took note, irritated her further.

"Don't fake innocent now. I saw you with the Head of Department of Magical Games and Sports. He kissed you and called you slut."

It made him cold inside, to know that she knew what he was, but he refused to show her that. His pride, battered and tattered as it was, apparently was still alive.

"So?"

"So? That's the only word you can say? What is your game, Malfoy? What are you planning to do? And don't tell me you have no scheme, because I won't believe it."

And she wouldn't, would she? They all were so righteous, the so-called-Light-Side, so quick to point fingers, except of course, at themselves.

Suddenly, Draco felt angry. How could she demand him to tell her what his game was? How dare she come uninvited into his house, throwing accusations at him!

"Why don't you ask Potter instead of me?"

"Don't bring Harry into this. You must have influenced him somehow."

"Influenced him?"

Draco couldn't believe his own ears. She was supposed to be the smartest witch of their year! Moreover, Harry was her best friend and Draco knew for a fact that some of the proposals Harry tried to push through were hers. Couldn't she put one and one together and came up with two?

"It must be nice living in your rose-tinted world, Granger," he said bitterly.

"Don't change the topic, Malfoy." There was a note of warning on her voice.

"I am not. If you must know, then yes, I am a whore and Potter is my pimp."

A small part of Draco gave a gleeful smirk on seeing her flabbergasted expression. Her eyes had become comically big and for a moment, she forgot to close her mouth.

"Don't bring Harry into this. This must have been your idea somehow."

The glee was killed in an instant and replaced with fury. He stood abruptly and stalked towards her side.

"My idea? My idea?"

She refused to back down, to move. Instead, she stood up as well and glared at him.

"Do you know how it feels, Granger, to have hands pawing all over you, to not be able to say no even if you don't like it? Do you know how it feels to just lie down and take all the humiliations you are subjected to, to obey like a pet, knowing all the while that there is nothing you can do?"

"Don't blame me for your perverted tendency, Malfoy,"

Draco felt like crying and laughing at the same time.

"Perverted? If any of us is a pervert, it is your precious Potter. Do you think I like it? You can't even imagine the depth of depravity the so-called upstanding wizards can think up when they've got closed rooms and a carte blanche to do whatever they want to do."

"You can always refuse."

The coldness of her words fed his anger.

"And what? Have my mother evicted from St. Mungos? Have no money to feed my family?"

"Pull the other one, Malfoy. I see you still have your house-elves."

Draco felt the anger slowly leave him. He flopped down on the sofa and scrubbed his eyes tiredly.

She really didn't know, did she? She really was thinking that the Wizarding World had accepted his family back with opened arms. But why should she pay attention to the fate of ex-Death Eaters like him? After all, she was on the winning side.

"And I am grateful for Tinky. But you know that house-elves are inherited, don't you? Just like this Manor?"

When he didn't hear her reply, he looked up at her.

"You have been looking up for too long, Granger. Are you forgetting about the heavy fine the Ministry exacted from the ex-Death Eaters?"

"And you are lucky that fine is the worst of it. You all deserve to rot in Azkaban if you ask me."

"Trust me Granger; this is even a worse punishment. I have a depressed father that rarely comes out of his rooms anymore, a sick mother that will have to depend on potions all her life, and a kid. On the other hand, I also have an empty vault."

"You got no one to blame but yourself for that, Malfoy," Hermione scoffed.

"Maybe. My father was surely a Death Eater, no point of denying that. But I never wanted to be one."

Yes, he was too cowardly to kill, wasn't he? But he was also too much of a bigoted jerk for him to defect to the light side. Draco Malfoy, always a failure.

He couldn't make his parents proud. He couldn't even save them from Voldemort's punishment. He was the worst son there was.

Then there was Astoria. He had loved her. He may not have been in love with her; maybe he loved her like a sister rather than a lover, but he loved her nonetheless.

She had been head over heels with him when they were graduating from Hogwarts - ending her seventh and his eight years there. Her father had told her that if she was determined to ally herself with the Malfoys, then she could forget her inheritance. She was young, though, and she chose him.

Yet again, he was a failure, wasn't he? He had nothing to offer her. Her friends started to distance themselves once they realized she had neither money nor influence anymore. He couldn't buy her clothes and jewels or take her out for dinner. In fact, the few times she did go out, people jeered and sneered at her.

No, he couldn't resent her decision to divorce him and go back to her family. He should be grateful that she let him keep Scorpius, although he knew that her father wouldn't want the kid to stay with the Greengrasses anyway, since it could complicate his plan to marry Astoria to another wizard.

Scorpius. He wished he could give him all the luxuries and privileges he had been given as a kid. Instead, the only thing he gave his son was a family name that would close doors for Scorpius.

And Harry. He didn't know when he started to develop feelings for Harry, but develop them he did. Perhaps it was after Harry saved him from the Fiendfyre. Perhaps it was longer. It didn't matter.

Draco no longer believed that the world would give him whatever he desired. He knew that the other man wouldn't feel the same for him, couldn't even stand him, for that matter. Weren't his current circumstances solid proof of that? Harry would never use any of his friends like he used Draco.

It was stupid, he knew, to fall for a man who only saw you as a tool. It was even stupider to still love said man, despite how badly he treated you.

Yet, it was already established that Draco Malfoy was an idiot, wasn't it?

"And I thought you, Gryffindors, should be the fair and compassionate ones. I was a bully, Granger, not a killer. Even if you are so sure that I deserve it, can you honestly tell me that my mother does? Does she deserve to suffer for her husband and son's sins?"

Granger was silent. Draco was quite sure she remembered that Narcissa Malfoy had helped Harry Potter to defeat Voldemort.

"Like I said, you have been looking up for too long, Granger. Do you know how people treat ex-Death Eaters these days? Do you know that my mother was hexed by one of your so-called-Light supporters? She was shopping in Diagon Alley, you know. She disturbed no one. They just came and hexed her and your beloved ministry wouldn't even bestow sufficient effort to investigate it."

Even remembering it was enough to rouse his anger and self-loathing once again. He couldn't protect her, couldn't even give her justice.

"Do you know that St. Mungos refused to admit my mother before Potter practically ordered them to do so? Or that Scorpius has been bullied for being a Malfoy?"

Her face was becoming paler but Draco couldn't stop himself.

"Tell me Granger, you have always said that it was wrong to hate Muggles and Muggleborns because their existence and blood status are not their fault. Then, is it Scorpius' fault to be born as my son? Do you know why Astoria left us? She said that she couldn't put up with it any longer, that her father was right, love alone is not enough. It is romantic, of course, but faced with reality of no money and practically being a social outcast..."

"Still, it is not like Harry is putting you at wand point."

He could see that she was grasping on her last reason. She knew he was right, but she didn't want to accept it, since it would mean that Harry was the one at fault.

With a sudden insight, Draco realized that on some level of her consciousness, Granger must have known that Harry had changed. She just didn't want to admit it, choosing to turn a blind eye instead. He wondered what kind of justification she had used to convince herself.

"No he isn't. He just told me that if I stopped obeying him, St. Mungos would stop helping my mother and my family would no longer have food on the table. Do you think this job is my first choice? Potter was the only one who would hire me. "

Draco hid his face in his hand. He couldn't believe he just poured out his soul to Granger of all people. Maybe the loneliness had gotten to him. His old friends, after all, either in Azkaban, death, or didn't want anything to do with him anymore.

"You could have told somebody."

Draco lifted his face and stared at her incredulously.

"Who? You? Weasley? Who would believe me? "

"You were Slytherins, Malfoy. I believe that you are capable of collecting evidence against Harry."

"So, are you implying that I am happy with this situation? Or that I am lying? Maybe I should have said who would want to help me? "

She didn't say anything and for a moment he pitied her - her and her feeble attempt to save her rose-tinted world. The moment passed quickly, though.

"Do you want to know what his newest project is, Granger?"

Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to tell Granger about it in great detail. And when he saw her face slowly lose its color, a part of him felt strangely glad. Apparently, someone, however unwilling, could still give a damn about him.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Hermione, we won! They passed it! They passed The Werewolves Protection Act! See? It is in the Prophet."

Harry shouted out the words the moment he arrived at her house. He didn't give her any time to answer either, opting to envelop her in a hug instead.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt this happy. Teddy could come home now.

"That's good, Harry." Her somber voice broke his elation.

He released her from the hug but kept his arms on her shoulders. She seemed tired, he observed, tired and sad.

"Hermione? What's wrong?"

Hermione didn't say anything. She just stared at him, as if trying to read him.

"You are not happy. Tell me what's wrong, Hermione."

"I was looking for you last Thursday," she said.

"Last Thursday? I thought I was at my office last Thursday."

He didn't understand. It was not the first time she was looking for him at the office, even if they both preferred to talk at his house. Moreover, he could safely say that that he hadn't seen her at all, so she couldn't be annoyed because of something that he had done. Or was it possible that she was upset because she couldn't find him?

"I know. I saw you with Abelard Raith."

Fear crept into Harry's heart. Did that mean Hermione knew about the method he employed to pass their proposals?

"Oh that. He came to asked me about security plan for the coming Quidditch match." Harry smiled. The lie came out easily.

"I also overheard what you were talking about."

She knew, Harry thought. Suddenly, his chest felt heavy and it was hard to breathe, yet at the same time, it felt like a burden had lifted from his shoulders. He didn't need to lie and do things in secret around her anymore.

"Oh."

"Oh? Oh? That's the only word you can say, Harry James Potter?" Hermione raised her voice.

"Look, you know that I have been skirting on the legal line to pass our proposals. You know that it was necessary."

Harry knew that if only he could make Hermione somehow understand why he did it, he would have an irreplaceable ally in her. He knew it wouldn't be easy, though.

"You let me believe that it was your status as Voldemort's slayer that you were using; that and maybe a bit of blackmail that you gathered by digging out their secrets. You never told me that you were trading flesh as well!"

Being friends with her for years helped him to realize that she was beyond furious at that moment. Her eyes were bright and her face was flushed. He rarely saw her worked up this badly.

"Honestly Hermione, you made it seem like a big deal."

"You don't think this is a big deal? I can't believe this!"

Hermione shook her head and walked towards him.

"Sometimes I felt like I don't know you anymore, Harry," she said, standing in front of him.

Harry was going to open his mouth to defend himself, but she stalled it by pressing her index finger to his lips.

"Listen to me. I know that you were devastated by Ginny's death, but this is not you, Harry."

From this up close, he could see there were tears in the corners of her eyes.

"I should have seen it, but you are my best friend and turning a blind eye is easier. You are colder, less inclined to forgive. The Harry I knew used to act first, to help even an enemy. Remember how you helped Malfoy from the Fiendfyre? Now, everything has to be calculated first for your benefit. You used to argue for justice, for equal treatment!"

"I am still doing it! Remember The Werewolves Protection Act?" Somehow, her accusation irked him.

"But the means to the end also used to be important for you, Harry! Do you remember how Dumbledore always said that love was your strongest weapon? But you are now driven by hatred."

"Does it really matter, Hermione? People changed. Situations changed."

How could she say that? Didn't she understand that love was not enough? That they were still essentially fighting, even if the shape of the war and those who sat on the enemies' chairs had changed?

"Do you think I wanted this?" Harry asked.

"Do you think Draco wanted this?"

Draco. So this was his doing. He had somehow convinced Hermione and turned her against Harry.

"He brought this upon himself." His voice was clipped and his eyes were hard.

"I can't believe this is you, Harry."

"Look Hermione, what should I do? You know how it was. I had tried to convince the people in power, to argue with them. It didn't work. This works. They get what they want, someone who can be used to realize their fantasies and won't talk about them, and we get what we want, their support for our proposals. And if it failed, there is always blackmail. We can change the Ministry without war."

"And what about Draco, Harry? You've forced him into prostitution!"

And why should he care about an ex-Death Eater? Those so - called-ex Death Eaters, they never changed. Harry knew the ministry should just send them all to Azkaban. If they had, then Ginny would still alive.

"He is well compensated, isn't he? I pay him more than enough for his service."

"I don't know you anymore, Harry." There was no anger left on her voice. Her tone was just plain sad.

"Do you want me to just stay silent and let them do whatever they want to do, Hermione? Even after Ginny? After Teddy?"

He tried to appeal to her common sense once more, but she just looked at him with the look that he hated: the one that said she was disappointed but felt hopeless to change anything.

"The road to hell was paved with good intentions Harry."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"What game are you playing at?"

Draco had just knocked on the door when he was pulled inside and pushed against the wall by a furious Harry. Harry's green eyes were bright and he put his hands on the wall, trapping Draco inside them.

"Speak English, Potter."

What was wrong with Harry?

Draco had read the newspaper that morning, had known that Harry's Werewolves proposal had been approved. Shouldn't it make him happy?

"Hermione. What have you told her?" Harry pronounced Hermione's name slowly, as if Draco wouldn't understand it otherwise.

"Nothing."

Draco could feel his heart beat faster. Harry knew. He should have known that Granger would confront Harry about it. After all, Gryffindors were not famous for the ability to keep secrets, wasn't it?

He should have realized that it would make Harry hate him more.

Harry glared at him.

"She put it all together by herself."

There was nothing he could do, was there? Harry should know what Granger on a mission was like.

"And you are saying that you didn't try to sway her to your cause, to make her hate me? Surely you know how easily she is influenced into defending what she sees as the poor and defenceless, regardless of whether they deserve it or not!" Harry practically spat the last sentence. "Tell me Malfoy, why the hell do you work for me?"

Draco shivered. Harry was smirking and there was malice in his voice.

"I need money. You know that, Potter."

That was the truth, if not the entire truth.

"And why did you choose to work for me?"

"Nobody else will hire me."

And he had tried. He had knocked almost every door at Diagon Alley, had applied for anything and everything, including for positions as a waiter or a shop-assistant. Nobody wanted to hire an ex-Death Eater.

He could try to find work in Muggle London, he supposed, but he knew nothing about Muggles. He'd had none of their education, and couldn't even operate most of their devices.

He was desperate, begging for job at the new bookstore on Hogsmead when Harry found him.

"Yes, nobody else wants you, Malfoy. After all, you just have one skill, don't you? And it is to open your legs for everyone who pays."

That was another truth, wasn't it? Even for Harry, who used to be a bleeding heart Gryffindor, even for the man that he had fallen in love with despite everything, he was just a body to be used.

Draco bowed his head, letting his fringe to cover his leaking eyes.

"No longer a proud Pureblood, are you, Malfoy?"

"Pride won't help my family," he answered quietly.

"You know, I wonder, why do you sleep with me? After all, I don't pay you for that, do I?"

The words were said in a confused tone, but Draco knew it was only a front. Dread started to spread inside him. Harry knew, or at least, he suspected something.

"It is in my interest to make you happy, isn't it?"

"Is that your only reason? Because I don't believe it, Malfoy."

He grabbed Draco's chin with his right hand, forcing him to look into Harry's eyes. Then, Harry smirked.

"You love me, don't you?"

Draco had thought that something like love surely could bring no shame. He also had thought that there was no way he could feel more miserable. He was wrong on both counts.

"Oh, this is rich. Draco Malfoy loves me. You know what? You really are one fucked up person, Malfoy."

And Draco couldn't agree more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Harry was no stranger to dreams, especially nightmares. He categorized his nightmares into three different groups: memories induced, reflection of impossible hopes, and Voldemort's hand-me-downs. So, when he found himself on King Cross just as soon as he felt asleep, he was not surprised.

He had, over the years, dreamed about it now and then. He dreamed that he was there and instead of Dumbledore, there were his parents and Sirius and Remus. He dreamed that the train came and Ginny was coming out of it, wearing a big smile on her face. He dreamed that they were all standing at the platform, Ginny and him, James and Albus, waiting for Lily to come home from Hogwarts for the last time.

Harry thought that maybe in his mind, King Cross had become an equivalent of the Mirror of Erised.

"Hello, Harry."

So it was Dumbledore's turn today.

"Professor," Harry said, approaching the red bench where Dumbledore was sitting. He was wearing his purple robe, the one with silver stars on it, but Harry noticed that there was no twinkle in his eyes. Instead, they looked a bit sad.

Not for the first time Harry thought that he had a fucked up imagination.

"I heard you had a fight with Miss Granger this evening," the ex-headmaster said when Harry sat beside him.

"It's all Malfoy's fault."

It was a familiar phrase. Yet, there was anger behind them then, instead of the petulant whine of his Hogwarts days.

"I am afraid being dead means I am not exactly caught up on what happens in life anymore. Please enlighten me how it all became Mr. Malfoy's fault."

"He set Hermione against me."

And Hermione believed him rather than me' was left unspoken. It was still a sore point with Harry.

"Oh?" asked Dumbledore, lifting one of his eyebrows.

Somehow, this raised Harry's ire further. Subconsciously, he knew that was only a dream, but he felt like he was fifteen again, standing in headmaster's office. It was as if he could feel Dumbledore's disagreement and disappointment through the simple gesture.

Harry jumped up and turned around to face the older wizard.

"I did what I had to do!"

"I have no doubt of that."

The voice felt too patronizing for Harry's liking. It was not the tone of a person who believed. It reminded him of the tone one used to pacify an angry beast that refused to see reason, but was too dangerous to be opposed directly.

Still, Harry felt that if he just could explain it, Dumbledore would surely see it his way.

"I had thought, once, that after Voldemort was defeated, everything would be all right. Surely the Purebloods would see that blood doesn't matter. Surely the Ministry, purged of Voldemort and his follower's influence, would be a better, fairer institution. I was stupid."

"You have faith," Dumbledore corrected.

"What's the difference? They let the Death Eaters go. They put away those that were infected by Werewolves or even those that they suspected as infected. The Ministry was still practically owned by the same people and groups."

Just as sudden as it came, he felt the anger leaving him. He felt tired. Old and tired and stupid.

"Some days, I think the war was all in vain," he added bitterly, averting his eyes and looking at the ground.

"You are disappointed." The tone was gentler, calmer, like a parent who tried to coax his child to say more. Yet Harry held his silence. Dumbledore sighed.

"Harry, I once said that love would be your strongest weapon; I still believe it."

"Funny, Hermione said the same thing to me today."

"Did she? Hmm, I always knew she was a smart witch." Dumbledore smiled.

"It is not enough, though. I loved Ginny and she died. I loved Teddy and the Ministry took him away," Harry said bitterly, flopping down to sit beside Dumbledore again.

"I tried negotiations, tried to talk, but they couldn't be convinced. They wanted me to be their poster boy; supporting whatever programs they sprouted out. They don't want me to think for myself."

"So you decided to talk in the languages they understand: blackmail, bribery, favors," Dumbledore said.

"It makes more progress than the other way."

"But it made you just the same as them, Harry."

"I do it for better purpose."

Why couldn't he make anybody see it? He just wanted to make it right. Maybe his methods were not always perfect, but in the big picture, it was nothing, wasn't it? The end, after all, justified the mean.

"I am sure they believe the same," Dumbledore said, "The Ministry thought that putting away werewolves and those who were possibly infected would make it safer for the population. The Purebloods thought that rejecting Muggles and Muggleborns would keep their world safe from Muggle influences. They went overboard and sometimes, the reasons are selfish, but they began with believing that they did the right things."

Harry was speechless. He used to make such arguments to defend his actions. He was sure he was right.

For the first time, there was a bit of doubt in his mind.

"Harry, I told you before that it is our choices that made us who we are. You know, Muggles have a saying that two wrongs don't make a right."

"One wrong won't make any right either, will it?" said Harry.

"Maybe, but at least it won't be two wrongs, right?" Dumbledore chided gently.

"There are other ways, Harry," he added.

"Will it work?"

There was no answer. Harry thought it was discouraging that Dumbledore, or his imagination, couldn't provide any guarantee about it.

"I want you to be happy, Harry."

"I am. I am happy."

Yes, he was happy. In fact, just that morning he felt ecstatic when he realized that the proposal had passed.

"You are satisfied; you feel you have outdone your opponents. It's different than being happy,"

Dumbledore turned and looked Harry in the eye.

"Your friends love you. Your family loves you. And I am sure Ginny is not the only one who loves you that way."

He should have known Dumbledore would bring Malfoy up.

It had begun as another taunt. If he were to be honest, he had believed that Malfoy had said the truth: he worked for Harry because he had no other option. He had bluffed when he said that Malfoy loved him.

Then, he looked at Malfoy's eyes, and suddenly he knew that it was true.

That realization shocked him. He couldn't believe it. After all, he never gave any reason for Malfoy to feel that way towards him. Or maybe, maybe Malfoy had nurtured the crush before Harry offered him the job?

Harry shook his head.

Still, Dumbledore, Harry decided, must be barmy. How could he even begin to compare Ginny with Malfoy? Besides, there was no way he could love Malfoy, not even if he wanted to, which he didn't.

"You have to learn to accept that you can't change everything, Harry, and you need to learn to open your heart to love again. You will be surprised," the older man said, as if he could read Harry's mind. Then again, since he was Harry's imagination, maybe he could.

"I have a bad enough day without a figment of my imagination giving me lectures," Harry grumbled.

"Am I?" Dumbledore smiled. Absently, Harry noted that the twinkles had come back to his eyes.

Then everything faded into black.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Malfoy."

For the first time since Harry could remember, he greeted the other man cordially.

"Potter...Harry..."

Malfoy looked like a mess. His eyes were rimmed red and there were dark pouches below them. His skin was paler than usual. Even his hair was limp.

He was also nervous if his words were any indication. Or maybe he was afraid. After their last encounter, Harry couldn't say he blamed him.

"Just come in first." Harry smiled, trying to assuage Malfoy's fear.

Unfortunately, if the look on Malfoy's face was any indication, he just achieved the opposite. Too late Harry realized that he never smiled at the other man. Malfoy probably thought it was some kind of a trap. Or worse, that, after knowing his feelings, Harry was mocking him.

Still, he came inside. Harry closed the door behind them and looked expectantly at Malfoy.

"I...I...," Malfoy stuttered.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath.

"I can't do it. If it makes you throw my mother out of St. Mungo, then so be it. I know I need the money, but I became your whore for my family. How can I do something that clearly will destroy them? People hate my family. The new law you proposed will give them opportunity to put my family in Azkaban, even on the basis of some imaginary offense."

The words seemed rehearsed. Clearly, Malfoy had thought it over.

"And how do you propose to provide for them, then, Malfoy?"

Harry was, if he were honest, really curious. As far as he knew, and Malfoy had admitted it as well, Malfoy had neither another source nor prospect of income.

"I can sell myself to Muggles. After all, it seems like it's the only thing I am good for, right?" said Malfoy, bowing his head.

But not before Harry caught the look in his eyes. The grey orbs looked dejected and Harry realized that they had often looked sad, but he had never noticed before.

Just like he had never noticed how beautiful they were, bags and dark circles and all. He had, he realized, never taken the time to appreciate the body in front of him.

He had enjoyed it for sure, but he had always categorized their time together as sex and only sex. Why should he spend more time in foreplay and seduction? After all, Malfoy was a sure thing, and as long as the act was done, he was satisfied.

His mind ran back to his conversation with Dumbledore - whom he was no longer sure was only a figment of his imagination.

He had thought about it over and over these last few days.

Then there was the nightmare last night. Even remembering it gave him shivers.

The dream had begun almost like a memory. There he was, dueling with Voldemort. Only then, when he finally killed the other Wizard, the snake-like face changed into his own.

Afterwards, the dream-world morphed into another where he sat on a throne-like chair on a raised platform. In front of him, there was a Wizard being tortured. He could see his friends, standing on the sidelines, averting their eyes.

And there was Malfoy, sitting on the floor, looking up at him and telling him over and over, "You are Voldemort, Harry."

He had woken up from that one with a scream, scaring his children.

Harry sighed.

Perhaps the old man was right; he had to change before he fell any further. Perhaps it was not too late for him to be happy again.

There was a tug on his heart. Pity, maybe, or it could be guilt. On reflection, his own words to Malfoy before, about how the only skill Malfoy had was to become a whore, seemed unnecessarily cruel.

"I'm sorry," he said, startling the other man.

"What?"

Malfoy, no, Harry reminded himself, Draco, looked up. Confusion was plain on his face.

"You don't need to wh-whore yourself out anymore."

Why was it so difficult to say that word? He had said it a million times before. Hell, he had called Draco worse than that many times.

"Harry?" Draco asked, looking unsure that he had heard correctly.

He was rather adorable like this, Harry involuntary thought. He bridged the distance between them with quick steps and hugged Draco.

"Stay. I'll retrieve the proposal. Nobody will put your family in Azkaban. We'll look for another way to change the Ministry; a different proposal and some other methods to pass it."

Harry tightened his arms.

"Maybe Hermione could come up with new ideas. You will never need to do it again, I promise. Maybe we can put up a fund raising event. Just please, stay."

Draco was opening his mouth. Harry didn't know what he would say, and he realized he didn't care.

"Hush, listen. I am not saying that I love you. I am not promising that I will. But, I want to try."

Then, before Draco could say anything, Harry silenced him with a kiss.

Fin


End file.
